"ensnare" poems
Let me mold my body along your curves; trickle yourself into my entire being
*Vulnerable, **** my heart exposed*, palpably we connect across the starry sky; you ... within me
I want your intimacy to linger along the edges of my lips hours after you've gone
I ache to be consumed by your eyes, intense with emotions, long after the dawn
Take me to your intimate chambers where hearts race; the rhythm of our silhouettes melded on satin sheets
Leisurely feel your way; a slow descend along the avenue of my rhythmic swell; forgive me of my quivering wanton needs
Allow me to graze at the gates of your femininity, drinking the honey from your pink walls; to feel your crowning point between my lips
How can I resist those wandering lips that stirs the curtains of my garden alcove; perfectly painted in honey dew, I throb for the touch of your kiss
Drape your thighs upon my shoulders; let the waves of satisfaction cascade up your spine
I beg to be released, dear God, of this intoxicating spell; I submit myself, heart laid bare; oceans of emotions no longer can I hide.
Find your eyes locking with mine; my torso parallels yours, my body pressed to you; equal in ferocity and tenderness
Mesmerize by your burning eyes in our melting flesh, so strong your hold; yet so tender your caress
Utter our names in fiery moans both whispered and screamed in heated breaths on our solitary night
Vile obscenities float out on heated breath, as cool air kiss our molded skin on the evening our time takes flight
Take me to your heart & cast away the flesh; allow our souls to weave in the throes of passion as our bodies mix into one; slow-motion ecstasy
A longing deep inside, the locked chambers of my soul to exotic places beyond our imaginations; you sneak into my heart to fulfill my every fantasy
Feed me the lullabies you paint on your canvas; orgiastic symphony we conduct in cascading tides; trembles throughout our bodies when our fluids mix
Let me paint upon your heart a ballet of our duet; the crescendo palette of my tide drown you in the spirit of our lyrics
Your ripe fruit quivers tenderly while our union completes; take my hands and let me be yours
Hold my sated body that tremors from the wake; a union of our souls ensnare a bond secure
~
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 7:34 AM UTC
Frown upon my withered heart!
and wipe away my tears.
Catch the nightmares, catch my dreams,
ensnare my childish fears.
Protect me, Catcher, put me down
and watch me sleep to-day.
the worries they encase me,
my dream’s the price I pay.
The morning comes unfiltered
the cycle is broken for now
Oh Catcher! my Catcher!
My faithful night snatcher!
Laid a kiss on my wavering brow.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
*I think to be thoughtful
I speak to be heard*
I write to decipher
The truth in my words.
*I smiled to ensnare you
I laughed to secure*
You slipped through the trap
That I built to procure
*I kissed to consume you
I hugged to enfold*
My arms close on nothing
You're no where to hold
*I writhed to entrance you
I clutched you to keep*
Now the place where I hold you
Resides in my dreams.
I write so you'll read this
My hand pens the truth
All that I've written,
I've written for you.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
1.) You have the most loving heart. Your warmth, your gentle touch that you personify without words. Melts the supports of my heart
2.) Eyes of deep blue, that ensnare me and leave me thoughtless. How they change into everglade greens, and mystical greys. They're beautiful
3.) Few laughs may be as pure as your quiet giggle. The mere sound gives me goosebumps and a funny feeling in my stomach. You're so freakin' adorable
4.)The curves of a semi-circle aren't nearly as perfect as yours. You've worked alot for the perfect body. I simply need to ask... How can you make something that's something that is already perfect better?
5.) Spontaneous, unexpected and surprising. You keep me on my feet, keep me entertained and make me enjoy every second with you. Who knows what I am to expect?!
6.) Once upon a time, there lived to fluffy bunnies, they decided to leave their little hole and go out on an adventure. A wolf came along and bit of the rabbits head and it bled to death Its so dark, and it leaves you wondering what to think. I love your dark side. It both terrifies and intrigues me
7.) You're so intellectual. I love some of the things you say and more importantly write! You have an amazing capacity for knowledge and wisdom and you use it well. It baffles me, some of the connections you make in your essays and assignments
8.) My love you illustrate a maturity that surpasses your years. Pertaining to your ability to be responsible and reliable if and when - not that I ever am - clearly am not able to be. I think you're the one looking after me. I'm the older one, who just happens to have an 8yr old inside them~
9.) You smell amazing, but no. Seriously, you are in every way, shape or form. The most amazing, star studded, picture perfect, superbly sensational girl. I could ever have met. Yes, let the alliteration flow
10.) Because you're you, and you are mine
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
Be my muse tonight, my love.
Inspire me in my dreams.
In poetry, I'll think of you
where starlight always gleams.
As Morning Glories catch the sun,
I'll capture you in rhyme.
My heart will sing your praises
while you make my spirit climb.
The raindrops are a mockery
that try to match my tears,
which fall like diamonds on my cheeks
each time our parting nears.
Your eyes like pools of amber
often take my breath away.
Your lips demand attention
and my ardor doth obey.
Be my muse tonight, my love.
Ensnare me with a kiss.
Enslaved my heart shall ever be
a prisoner of your bliss.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
The crochet needles are stuck
in my teeth.
The hooks settle in my throat,
dripping with
saliva and *****
The calendar winds its way
through the winter months,
and it is still winter,
but it has been hot like spring(s).
The crochet lingers.
The white thread
consumes.
I love you, but that is all I ever say
anymore.
I miss you.
The blood drips down the alley
and God smokes a Cuban.
Death laughs. Death reds. Death dog.
Death to the death-heart, the dead-heart;
and I will ensnare your---
I will ensoul and be ensouled
because I am God.
I am God smoking a Cuban.
The wedding bells get caught
in the cilia,
and they are frozen.
I am deaf. I am death I am God without a Cuban cigar.
I'm sorry as I pick the dirt
from my fingernailed coffin tomb.
The abort-fetus clings to your ******
You love your ******
I never really liked mine.
The crochet grids lie in
woven embroidery dreams,
hot as fever,
cold as the call of the void.
Jump. Jump.
It is not autumn here.
But here, see, I'm sorry.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
I attempted to
ensnare my darkest desires
with the help of dreamcatchers.
Filter out all those
recycled thoughts to unveil
a pipe dream that is just mine.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
Cramping legds their crying
Like the babes, lying
In their mothers' arms
What are the charms
Which parents ensnare
Like poisonous air
Be witched to reproduce
Nature's silent truce
Though you die you can live
Vicariously and give
What makes you, you
To another imbue
The train halts brakes squealing
Interlocking carriages feeling
Each other and the air
Signal lights stare
And the track opens up before us
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 7:04 AM UTC
One can only imagine
The height and peaks
That may be reached
Until the chase begins
Off dreamland you go
The smoke is offered to all
Who seek this elusive creature
Possessing desire to gaze into its eyes
Chasing the Dragon
Rare nectar for the mind
It may only be found
In the gray fog of sweetness
Within swirling curls of smoke
Carefully hidden
The dragons yoke
For once tasted
Forever will you crave the hunt
So as the rest
I chase the dragon
Through out the universe and time
My life never more be my own
Tall mountains I will climb
In my quest to ensnare the beast
Chasing the dragon
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M Darby
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.
Amber beads unearthed from clay,
Fashioned by my artist love,
Glowing yellow, filled with day,
Captures sunbeams from above.
I still love them.
Some say gods have made these,
To ensnare the light of Sun,
But we women saved these,
In memory & hope of sons,
We keep them.
Fat & smooth as butter,
We turned them in our hands.
The bone beads scraped with madder,
The amber just with sand.
Those of shadowy carnelian
Embedded like a shield,
We treasure as we fear them,
Like wounds on battlefields.
The others soaked with brownish earth,
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.
So, when we are dead, take not from us,
These rounded, golden suns,
But bury them with us, with sword and severed buss,
To revere the slaughtered ones,
Who never returned to us.
Revised November 15, 2016
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 8:55 AM UTC
Plumped rouge with pigment
her lip fills to graze the ********
intent to disquiet the likes of de Sade
autografted with ocular detachment
should a Marquis wish to harness
the song of the morning
within a bandolier of Seine
to ensnare any bustled Persephone
gilted by discharge of ions
into a ménage of torment
through the Porte des Lions.
Hers is the tincture of doxy
caramelized and debrided of naivety,
empowered by the eve of invention,
swollen to curves and grounded in Paris.
Illumination defies pervasion
down to every gear and pulley
she has hushed through mechanization
and lulled by steam,
swaging a cacophony of flickers
encased in glass by the Lady’s watch,
where every rivet of her plate glisters silken
reverberation in cascade,
elegant, caged, and towering,
outspoken in silence,
ever challenging the Champ de Mars.
"Paris by Gaslight," written by Dionne Charlet, is the title poem to be featured in the upcoming steampunk anthology Paris by Gaslight, the third anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books. Look for the first two collections of poems and short stories set in Victorian Times, New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528). Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
In the twilight of immeasurable hope
I run, I pace, I stagger.
A moon of sorts tucks its hefty beams
Behind the gauzy, twisted zephyr,
As if teasing that its crisp, round, clarity
is merely an echo of a distant, convoluted story:
a myth.
One moment I am carrying out my quotidian realities
Unfiltered, unbridled, lucid,
Running my fingers through laughing waves
of golden, auburn richness,
Letting my wavering, billowing hair
slowly melt into the quavering, trembling wind…
When suddenly-
I am caught in the labyrinth of veils.
I, with my hair and my warmth,
I am auriferous.
And these sheets, oh these hangings!
They float like century-worn cobwebs
And they ensnare me so.
This is where the tangled messages
And mangled mixed signals
All wriggle themselves into form
And make their zombie graveyard.
And yet there are sparks,
Little voices trapped in burning baubles
Shining like the ever-loving soul of the universe,
Which whisper the stories of the moon-thing
Beyond the borders of this haze-land.
Sometimes I attempt to fashion
these ethereal sparklings into my hair.
They suggest insanity, so close to my ears,
And I can’t fill my soul with enough…
I cling to the faith that they will lead me out
Into the amaranthine beyond.
I come back here often,
Always hoping that today will be the day
That the beams from above
Will reach to seek me.
For that, I will love the mists,
And carnally sip away
At the nebulous, crepuscular,
Pools of Fantasy.
But in retrospect,
I should never have told you
That your name means “Purple” to me.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
She can feel
The thought
Blooming within her
Flowering mind
That will never wilt,
Dew of life
On her
Crown of petals
Hiding the thorns
Within her soul,
She'll spill nectar
Hungry hummingbirds
Static watchers
Of this beauty,
Releasing sweet
Her aroma
Upon the breeze,
But careful you
Lest her truth be
She's a Venus flytrap
Ready to ensnare you,
Handle with care...
© okpoet
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Who can know why this is so
That one day stands supreme,
To soar above the working week
And all that found between.
The daily urge, the routine dirge
Of tedious tasks to hand,
Which drive the head to boredom.
And tax the patience bland.
To struggle through this midweek glue
To land at joy contrived
For then arriveth Friday
The proof we have survived.
Friday, joyous Friday
When birds come out to sing
And sunshine at it’s glorious best
Radiates on everything.
Children yell and grown men laugh
Great wondrous things abound
As Friday spreads its bounteous wings
And herald trumpets sound.
To ensnare this magic essence
To bottle it for all,
Would save our suffering planet
And sound salvations call.
M.
Friday ,23 November 2018
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC
Be afraid of the bohém, they may write you a silly little poém to make you love 'em.
Or even worse, in reverse, with their verse, coerce your mind and soul to converse.
And even if their ascent is traverse and the obstacles adverse, routes to them are diverse.
They refine their craft to give you a raft, don't be daft, they rehearse for the terse,
tiptoeing over the perverse, not wanting to averse. They wanna choke the horses of your hearse.
They have no need to beg and plead. Just a wish to slap your *** your steed.
They just wanna make fear disperse for it they accurse, knowing well it's a curse.
No need to look for your purse. Your courage will theirs reimburse
and your smile their swollen fingers nurse.
See, the reaper wants the tails of coins thus places them on eyes faced reverse.
The bohém kick groins and leave traces but from coins take a print of the obverse.
Why? Cause they want not heads, but what's in them. They want your head to stay ahead.
Cause when a head is spiked by tails and filled with flashy tales, it is as good as dead.
They want to help you stay afloat - forget about the raft, think bigger, think of a boat.
Like evergreen crickets they ask you to disburse your fears and reverse your tears.
They ask not for a penny, just a thought or two, not many.
Like the ***** eyed and slightly sane miss Moneypenny.
Some call it a gift, many a curse. A curse the bohém can inverse
cause they submerse spirit in a lyrical sea and lower the stars for you to see.
Remember and beware, if you reward them with something as simple a stare,
you could be blinded by a hearty glare. Now you've been reminded, all's fair and square.
So why not just stay there? It's just your spirit they may ensnare like a hare,
only to mend it's wounded knee so that it can again hop away and be free.
Art is the heart of the bohém and their heart is their art.
So if you ever want to, thank them not with money but with a snack,
sprinkle a piece of your heart with honey. They'll bite it and give you two back.
Eat one too and make like a dove to flee to the place you really want to be.
Ride the waves like Nikolai's bumblebee and fulfill your uncharted destiny.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC
I am an escaped prisoner from barred disillusion,
A personable recluse fighting the illusion
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion.
I wonder how it is that I find optimism alone,
When collective pessimistic thoughts condone
The woeful tales that howl and moan.
I hear voices of people that aren’t there,
Yet find myself in calmness aware
Despite their tormented accusational affair.
I see ideals living and thriving out there
Even when apathy or indifference ensnare
Battered hearts and worn out minds in despair
I want nothing more than to ‘want’ so desperately
I hold onto desire so restlessly,
That I’ve tired the being of my entity,
I am an anomalous paradox captive to the sea
Where waters churn in active disharmony,
Yet comfort as it may my tranquility.
I pretend that I’ve already staked my global legacy
As if my words, thoughts, and feelings,
Have changed the world entirely.
I feel everything as I believe it should be,
Riding the waves of intensity
In emotionally humble serendipity,
I touch the stars in remote prose,
Wandering the vast expanses without close,
Wherever my mind goes, it goes.
I worry about the future of humanity,
As if I was merely here to watch observantly
From some unknown eternity.
I cry for those in silent pain
With fake smiles of disdain
Who dare not speak for thought in vain.
I am a quiet observer of the human condition
Checking and balancing sedition
Though never granting my submission.
I understand the fallibility of the mind,
Gathering as many perspectives I can find,
Theorizing everything to which I’m inclined.
I say it’s all relative but it’s all relevant
Prone to be dominated by the prevalent
Missing the subtleties that are heaven sent.
I dream when I’m awake through my ideals,
Even when they’re still just spinning wheels,
Hoping they gain traction as time reveals.
I try to be better than the day before,
As that’s the best way to keep score,
When the world has us compared to others so much more.
I hope my legacy is genuine,
I regret nothing even when I sin,
As time wears down my wrinkled grin.
I am only human, to live and to die,
That’s about all we can be or rely,
And honestly this notion breaths me a sigh.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
The heart, mired in the thick black sauce
Beats less for love but rapid with deceit
A craggy instrument that lacks the elegance,
Of the newborn
Awakened each day to seek new meat
To ****** upon and ensnare
Her waking and ending thoughts
Seek to tarnish the golden rule
Mrs. Ess, you are a sight to sea, and see, and si
The hair on the hairless, rise to heaven
While those of us in your presence
Seek a shadow to hide and peek not
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
To see a dwindling tree in the forest
is not to know its bleakest
but to know its earnest
The decay is shown outwardly as despair
by means of deforested ensnare
Forlornness seems its welfare
Externally the forest is declared undeserved eternally
Beauty is unsecured directly
And hope comes seldomly
Whole,
is a forest,
alive as a unit
Spaciousness is created with the tree's covet
Restored are the longing of nutrients
in a sacrificed facet
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
Well of course it’s dangerous,
they certainly promise it won’t be painless.
You’ll break, and crumble,
all your words will get jumbled.
Curious?
It can twist you in knots,
all while you’re still trying to connect the dots.
Hell, the happy ending isn’t even promised
and this is me being honest.
Curiouser?
There’s no way to prepare,
it’s only way is to ensnare.
But you’ll be okay with that trap,
you’ll still be trying to understand its map.
Figure it out?
This crazy thing we call love,
it’s the most twisted game you can think of.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
What is it to be free in an unfree world?
Madness, as the only escape, is what I have chosen.
Madness in the sense of unrest,
Disavowal of the properties proscribing my actions
I smoke and drink to put off life
to ensnare nothingness with breath
and feel contingency take its hold on me
I want wine, furies and song to be my epitaph
and grasp at meaninglessness with two sweaty palms
I am not comfortable and never shall be
with this notion of decidedness and squalor of the mind
yet it is I
I know little of the great works and can hardly hold a pencil
This is where I meet myself, a worker, unfit for labor
exposed to existentialism and sick
I shudder, alone forever
Good things given to and wasted on me
I am death encapsulated
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
I am not a fancy poet.
I do not use intricate words
or phrases to catch the eye
or ensnare the senses.
When I write,
it is not to elicit attention from
an inquisitive audience,
or gain fame.
I write to simply ***** my thoughts,
in untangible notes and scribbles,
and hope it can conjure
some sort of peace in my mind.
I share my poetry,
for the hope that perhaps,
you too can relate to me
and free your mind,
while we both try to
make some sort of sense
out of my word *****
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Some friends are only meant to be
temporary.
Now that doesn't mean they weren't real.
The time, the laughs, the memories-
they were all real!
Some friends blow in with the wind
and stay for a while.
All you can do is laugh, help each other grow, and then
let them go at the next tide
when a new wind comes for them.
Don't hold them back like birds in a cage.
Release them!
Would you want a friend to ensnare you
and with an iron grasp, hold you selfishly enraged?
Some friends are temporary,
but the happiness they bring
can last forever in your memories.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC
you left sinkholes
in my head
large enough
to ensnare my
wildest, unfiltered
dreams. they're
now trapped in my
mind and lost in the
grey matter.
ashes to serotonin
norepinephrine to dust
ex nihilo nihil fit
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 4:59 AM UTC
I’m a wild child
Explored much, invested much, observed too much
I have danced in the dancing wind and laid naked in the crushing waves
My arms have stretched around the world
The shenanigans of unfiltered words
The crude behavior of unschooled actions
Have driven away the hearts of the expectant
I deny not my actions
For they come from the plain origin of the wilderness
I am a wild child
Gutted by trees in the forests and soothed by dewdrops from the branches
I speak not the language of man
My voice it carries across through the jungle wild
In screams and laughters and sometimes loud shrills
Like my friends, the apes or the enemy, the dressed
I am a wild child I know
I can’t be contained – I cannot be housed
I must run as with the time that never stops
I must run now – before the traps ensnare
The cliff awaits, the river calls, I leap into the sky and dive and I am gone!!
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:15 AM UTC
Emerged from the forest of before,
lying out here on nature's open floor.
Hushed silence descends on the crowd,
astronomic anticipation deafeningly loud.
And an audience of many a twinkling light,
an audience of burning green eyes keep us in sight.
The spotlight is trained on a boy perched on a red box,
He ignores the creaking seats and the rude whispered talk.
The silence is blessed,
as Jupiter smiles down from above,
As the grass tickles our cheeks,
Necks arched
We need to behold it.
Clasped in embrace, lips coiled in fear,
Something is stirring, monsters of society rear
Ugly heads to turn away,
Their anger, their fright, their life...
is on display
A star gazing ****** new to this universe,
new to the way the galaxies converse.
New to the language of this astrology,
I now write previous lives eulogy.
Even though this masquerade leaves us dissuaded,
its lines ensnare us, to overlook mumbled words
and taut stagnant blank faces.
This dancing boy cries out in many voices,
now he's loud enough to be heard.
And then we see it and it's in the sky,
I don't want forever and I don't want why,
I just want to hold stardust in my hand,
To recall, remember, rewind.
As I will never understand.
In front of our eyes, they speak the final words
linked together by their unity.
One does not surpass the other,
and in their eyes we find serenity.
Who cares what you are
Under a star
Who cares how you feel
Because nothing is real
There's always more than you or me,
the world is bigger than what we see.
It's not just our stretch above,
there's more to accept and more to love,
And two hands on either side,
lead me to open my heart. Open it wide.
To swallow the stars and swallow the sky,
Swallow this terrible tragic lie
Whole.
Looking into portals to Heaven or looking into
the realms of the mind,
Whether someones is listening,
up there- I solemnly believe to find-
That someone is "vested in your success".
SO OUR LOVE ALWAYS
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC